Necessary Evil
by gracefulfallen
Summary: Written for TDD's Challenge - show a ruler at their most ruthless. I chose Jon. One shot, PG13 for language.


This was written for The Dancing Dove's Seanfhocal Circle challenge number 20. The prompt was

_Your challenge is to write a fic where you portray a ruler at their most ruthless, their most caculating, or simply at their most exploitive. When you have power, you can't help but pull rank. Vulnerability or a sense of humour are not the only things that show we are human. There are less pleasant ones, too. Be as unbiased as you can. _

**Necessary Evil**

__"This will be... tricky." Jonathan said, his blue eyes boring into Thayet's green. They sat in his private study, Thayet pacing the room like a caged tigress, Jon sitting calmly against his desk, his muscular arms crossed over his chest. Only the intensity of his gaze revealed he was nervous at all.  
  
Thayet gave a dry chuckle and turned, stalking back across the room again. "You always have had a talent for understatement, Jon." Thayet shook her head savagely, strode to the window, and looked out across the hills and valleys of Tortall. She heard him approach, felt him wrap his arms around her waist, kiss her cheek.  
  
"I wish there was another way, love. But think – discrediting him, humiliating him – it's better than the alternative. And it's the only way to make sure the rest do not secede without him." Jon murmured in her ear, looking off into the distance as well. "If we have him killed it will merely anger the conservatives. Any accidents will look suspicious. Accusing him of treason and having him executed will lead to their secession as well. This is the only way to keep Tortall whole."  
  
Thayet turned and wrapped her arms around his chest, squeezing hard, burying her face in his shoulder. "It just feels so, so... dirty." She murmured, sighing. "And what if he chooses something other than the sword for the duel? We know you can best him with the sword. But lances? They never were your strong suit, Jon."  
  
"He'll choose the sword. His honor will demand it. And if he doesn't, it will accomplish the same thing as my defeat of him will. I'll disarm him, and that coupled with the false rumors will sully his name and his cause."  
  
They stood for a few more minutes, holding one another, steeling themselves for the ball ahead. It was the queen's birthday, a day when everyone was expected to be at least civil to her for courtesy's sake. It was also very public. Every one of the conservatives considering leaving Tortall would be there. All would see, believe they had been following a rabble-rousing lout, and behave for a while, at least long enough for the Crown to gather a good enough case against them to execute them for treason. Finally, Thayet pulled out of Jon's hold, looked up, kissed him softly once, and then drew him towards the door. It was time.

* * *

No one else knew of the plan. That had been the hardest part. They had labored over it for hours, then waited for the perfect time to strike. It was true, the servants of the palace were notorious for gossiping, but those employed as personal servants for nobles were tight lipped. They had to be. There were, though, servants used by all nobles not employed by them – those that took care of the letters in the realm. All it took was one open letter, placed on the desk for outbound mail.  
  
The gossip began.  
  
Jon watched from the dance floor, Thayet in his arms as they twirled and spun. It spread rapidly. Happily chatting people leaned in to a whispering member of their group. Their faces, intent, greedily devouring the scrap of information, turned into facades of disgust and outrage. Their gazes darted towards what they thought were their king and queen happily dancing, oblivious to the dark secret.  
  
Jon watched avidly, waiting for the precise moment he would lead Thayet towards a seat near the front of the room. There. The rumors were nearing the group Alanna was in. Perfect.  
  
"Come, love. Let us sit for this next dance." Jon said, smiling at her. She smiled back, playing her part perfectly, and nodded.  
  
"I was beginning to tire." She laid a hand on her stomach, just beginning to swell with their second child. Jon escorted her towards a chair and sat next to her. Three, two one...  
  
"_LAMBART!_ You Gods cursed maggot eating," The Lioness went on from here, using several words that actually made maidens around her faint. "I will scour your bile from the earth. _Name your weapon_, you..." He let her vent her spleen for several more seconds. It had been a while since Alanna had been able to let her temper go.  
  
"Lioness!" He called as she took a breath. The room had gone silent and still during her tirade. Now the only noise in the room came from those attending the fallen girls. Everyone else stared at their king, awed at how he faced the Lioness' snapping violet eyes steadily. "What is the meaning of this? Why have you interrupted this occasion of celebration with challenges?"  
  
Alanna strode across the room swiftly, Lambart following behind her, determined to get his say in as well. Three feet from him, Alanna bowed and looked up, visibly restraining herself. Her face was dead white, pinched with fury. "Majesty, I have just heard a most disturbing thing. Lambart left a letter open on his desk for the mail carriers to find. In it, he accused her Majesty of..." Alanna paused, her breath heaving in her chest, her sword hand twitching. "of being pregnant with the child of one of your Majesties knights." The crowd gasped, looking shocked. Jon could barely keep his lip from curling in disgust. More than half of them had already heard this.  
  
Thayet played her part wonderfully. Had Jon not known, he would have thought she really was hurt. Her beautiful lips trembled, and two tears actually dripped down her face. That was Lambart's doom. No one could forgive him for spreading rumors of infidelity about a pregnant woman on her birthday. Jon stilled his face, narrowed his eyes, strode down the steps, and removed a glove.  
  
"Lioness, stand down."  
  
"Sire, it is my responsibility as Champion," Alanna began, her face still white with fury.  
  
"And it is the honor of my lady that has been insulted. Seeing as she is currently incapable of defending her own honor, _I_ will do so." Alanna hesitated, saw something in his eyes and nodded, a slight frown on her face. Jon turned and slapped Lambart lightly on both cheeks.  
  
The man, sweating, stammered, "V... very well. I name the lan... the sword. The sword for our duel. As I have done no wrong, surely the Gods will defend me."

* * *

From Lambart's first pass it was clear, to Jon if not their audience, he was not anywhere near Jonathan's equal. He swung slightly clumsily, and he gripped the blade much too tightly. A first year squire could have defeated the man. His incompetence made this the most difficult and dangerous part of the dance.  
  
Jon let him swing, dodging the slashes to his head. Then, quick as a snake, he darted in to score a hit on the man's wrist. It bled heavily, something Jon had been counting on.  
  
He dodged, letting Lambart maneuver him so that his back was to the blood on the floor. Then, he let the man press him back towards the blood. When his back foot was over it, Jon lunged at Lambart, and feigned a convincing slip. Lambart closed with a triumphant shout.  
  
And Jon was ready for him. With perfectly choreographed desperation, Jon blocked the slash at his head, reversed, and slashed Lambart's belly open. He struggled to his feet, placed a look of regret and sadness on his face, then gave the mercy stroke, cutting Lambart's throat.  
  
He dropped his sword, spat at it, and bowed his head over the body. He then turned on his heel, and strode towards the door, hardly able to keep a triumphant smile off of his face.  
  
Thayet was waiting for him in their suite.  
  
"You bastard! _You bastard_!" Her green eyes blazed, and her ivory skin was flushed with fury.  
  
"Thayet" Jon said warningly.  
  
"Oh ho, don't start with me, Jon." She snarled. "You killed him on purpose. This was all orchestrated. _All of it_. And you knew I wouldn't play if I knew he was to die. So you lied to me. You lied to me, allowed me to filthy myself in this plot..." By now, tears of fury were running down her face. She turned, strode through the bedroom door and slammed it.  
  
Jon walked towards the couch in their sitting room. Thayet would calm down by morning. She was a sensible girl. She would realize, in time that Lambart couldn't be allowed to live. If he had, he would have been able to explain what had happened to his co-conspirators. Thayet would come to discover, as he had, that his death was a necessary evil. 


End file.
